


Slip of the Tongue

by moonstruckbucky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But Overall Just Hilarity, F/M, Fluff, some sexual themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruckbucky/pseuds/moonstruckbucky
Summary: Reader has a bit too much of Thor’s Asgardian liquor and spills the beans.





	Slip of the Tongue

They’d warned you, all of them. Hell, Thor himself had warned you, exclaiming that “Asgardian liquor was not for the faint of heart”. If it knocked two super soldiers on their asses after just one glass, just what the hell would it do to little old you?

You always had something to prove. Being the smallest Avenger had its advantages, such as stealth and being severely underestimated. Nat had taught you how to use your height and small stature to quickly gain the upper hand on your opponent.

The list of disadvantages? Endless.

Clothing didn’t fit right, resulting in custom-tailored tactical suits, basic kitchenware is almost always out of reach, and finally, the worst of them all, being on the receiving end of a relentless onslaught of short jokes.

They weren’t always verbal jokes either. Sam had a knack for shoving your favorite ice cream all the way to the back of the freezer so you’d have to stand on a chair to get it. Same thing with coffee mugs, knowing just how bad your caffeine addiction was. Tony had put pallets under the washing machine so you’d have to climb halfway into the damn thing to get all of your socks at the bottom. Tony also adjusted the seats on  _all_  of the official Avenger vehicles and erased the memorized seat settings on your Grand Cherokee and always left it conveniently at a setting appropriate for Steve.

Steve, while he immediately felt guilty after doing so, adjusted all of the training platforms to a height that was nearly impossible for you to reach on a flat-footed box jump. He also started putting your favorite blanket up on the top shelf in the living room, leading you to coerce Peter into getting it for you either by shooting a web and yanking it down or climbing up the wall himself. Thor, in his massive, hulking godlike glory, would merely dangle things of import, such as your keys or your phone, over your head and grin like the cat that ate the canary when you finally resorted to jumping up and down and whining like a child.

The only ones who showed you mercy were Wanda (although she at first had her kicks by sliding silverware or the remote out of your short-range reach), Nat, who’d latched onto you like an older sister, Clint, because he hadn’t fully embraced the sanctity of Dad jokes yet, and Bucky because, well, Bucky was Bucky.

Bucky didn’t talk to anyone, really, except for Steve and occasionally Nat. Sam would be on the receiving end of a scathing joke, and the two would then devolve into petty arguments like children. But other than that, he kept to himself and, to your relief, didn’t partake in the short jokes. That’s not to say he didn’t find them amusing.

A few times you glanced at him when Sam or Tony had made another joke in time to see his mouth twitch with a smile he tried to fight back. Instead of angering you, it had the opposite effect: it excited you. You hadn’t yet seen the cold facade of the Winter Soldier crack, but just getting a glimpse of what you were sure was a radiant, beautiful smile made you want to try.

But he barely interacted with you. Your schedules were nearly opposite; when you were in training, he was on a mission and vice versa. If you were in the same room together, the silence was awkward and uncomfortable, made worse by the fact that he barely looked at you and sought out the most efficient exit. It hurt, but you figured he wasn’t having that easy of a time adjusting to life in the tower, to not being the bad guy.

Tony’s parties didn’t really help Bucky come out of his shell. Mostly because they required a more formal attire and the most dressed up you ever saw Bucky was when he was in his tactical gear.

Suffice it to say, tonight he looked  _damn good_  in a dark button-down shirt and a pair of dark, form-fitting jeans that hugged his thighs deliciously. Ignoring the fact that he looked awkward, uncomfortable, and out-of-place standing alone at the bar, Bucky Barnes was a picture of perfection.

He seemed to relax little by little as people started to head home. By then it was nearly midnight and Thor was handing out shots of his famous Asgardian liquor. Never one to pass up a challenge, you sauntered up to the group and snagged the shot glass out of his hand as he extended it to Clint.

“Whoa now, little one,” he chided, and you huffed indignantly.  _Here we go_. “Asgardian liquor is very strong, and I do not think it wise for you to drink more. You’re already quite drunk.”

“I’m fine, Andre,” you shot back. To your ears your speech sounded fine; to the others, not so much. They shot you disbelieving looks at the all held their shot glasses, Bucky included (because even the Winter Soldier wouldn’t pass up a chance to get at least a small buzz going).

Looking around the group, Thor merely shrugged, and cried out, “Cheers!”

Glasses clinked and the shots were thrown back. It burned beautifully down your throat, settling in your stomach like warm hot chocolate with peppermint Schnapps on a winter day. Wincing a bit at the flavor, you blew out a breath and joined the others as they sat on the couch.

Thor began a rerun of the time he set Mjölnir on the table and offered the others a chance to lift the hammer (though he didn’t mention the slight wiggle when Cap attempted to lift it).

“We’re all not worthy!” you drawled, throwing your hands up limply. The Asgardian liquor was fast-acting. You’d be face-down in the couch sooner than you’d anticipated.

“Quite right, little one,” he agreed, gesturing with his glass.

You leaned your head back on the couch and groaned. “Why do you all do that to me?”

“Because you are quite short,” Thor explained, furrowing his eyebrows. Across the coffee table, Tony held up his thumb and index finger, spaced a millimeter apart.

“Pipsqueak.”

“Fuck off Stark,” you snarked, tipping back the rest of your second glass of Asgardian liquor.

“You know, I have to say,” Tony said, scooting forward on the chair, “your alcohol tolerance is impeccable for someone your size. Shouldn’t you be unconscious right about now?”

You sneered while the others laughed.

The night went on like that for a while, until someone (probably Sam) brought up a mission during which Nat had walked away with some really attractive guy’s number.

“He had really nice arms,” she said dreamily with a sultry smirk and a suggestive wiggle.

“Really? That’s your kink? Arms?” Clint asked from where he lay on the floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky get up, his face slightly flushed. You relaxed when you heard the sound of another beer being opened.

_Way ahead of you Barnes, if this is where the conversation ended up._

“Okay, Barton, if that’s too normal then what’s yours?” she shot back. Clint blew a raspberry and waved as if he didn’t have one.

“Don’t have one, or need one.”

You rolled your eyes. “C’mon, Clint. Everyone’s got one. Or have you not discovered it yet?”

The others ‘ooh’ed (even Cap was joining in, though it did not go unnoticed that he was as red as a tomato) as you waggled your eyebrows, swaying in your seat. At Clint’s eye roll, you shrugged and leaned back into the couch, laying your head back on the armrest. You winced as the world started to spin. Fuck.

“Well what’s yours then, Y/N?”

Thanks to your inebriated brain and the obvious malfunction of your filter, without thinking you replied, “Metal.”

You cringed when you heard the sound of a shattering beer glass, opening your eyes slowly. The others were looking at you in various states of shock and extreme amusement. But your drunkenness wasn’t letting you feel embarrassed about it, so you shrugged.

“Really now, Y/N?” Nat asked, leaning forward to lean an elbow on her knee. “Tell us more about that  _kink_  of yours.”

Damn those drunken floodgates.

“It’s a new one,” you started, words slurring closer and closer together. “I mean, I’d really like to know what that cold metal hand feels like wrapped around my neck. Wait, do you think it  _is_  cold or has Tony figured out a way to make it thermoregulate?”

“I can tell you I have  _not_  figured out a way to do that and I never will after this conversation. Sorry, Barnes.”  _Over your head._

“That’s a shame, Stark. That’d be a gift to  _humanity,_ but that whole hot/cold thing could be a turn on. You know what else is a gift to humanity? Those goddamn thighs of his. I mean, Jesus take the wheel. And his arms  _just in general_? I mean  _fuck!_  The man is a goddamn masterpiece sculpted by  _gods_. How is that even fair to stick eye candy like that and tell me I can’t touch?!”

The snickering of the others made you open your eyes in confusion. Nat was red in the face holding back laughter, while Steve’s face was  _flaming_  with what you knew was an embarrassed blush. It  _was_  his best friend that was the object of your affections, after all. Thor looked uncomfortable and Tony was grinning into his Scotch, trying really hard not to laugh.

You scoffed. “Whatever guys. A girl can look! It’d be a goddamn shame if nobody looked. Ugh, Thor, you might’ve been right about this liquor of yours. Definitely not for the faint of heart.”

“You, little one, are definitely not faint of heart,” he chuckled.

“Well thanks. If anyone needs me I’m going to be spending tomorrow huddled in a blanket fort sleeping off this motherfucker of a hangover. G’night.” You stood up shakily, unbalanced as the liquor ran its course through you. With a hand to your head, you stumbled out of the common area, throwing a “g’night Bucky” over your shoulder.

It wasn’t until you got back to your room, which took longer than normal as the spins hit you full force, that your inebriated brain caught up to your actions, and your hazy eyes snapped open as you lay across your bed.

“Oh fuck!” you cried, throwing your hands over your face in embarrassment.

You hoped Nat had a shovel in the tower because you would need to bury yourself alive before facing everyone, Bucky especially, ever, ever again.


End file.
